Adventures in Panama: The Woe of Michael
by Faithfulcynic
Summary: The adventures of the boys postSona. Michael finds out about Sara. HUMOR. Spoilers for Good Fences.


**off: I was feeling a bit silly :)**

"Adventures in Panama : The Woe of Michael"

To say that his brother took the news about Sara's death hard was like saying that Mahone was twitchy or that Bellick running around in his tighty-whiteys was a bit disturbing. In other words, a gross understatement.

"NOOOOOOOO!" Michael screamed, clutching his head, clenching his fists, and doing everything short of a Brad Pitt "what's in the box" wail, but that was mostly because Michael already knew what was in the box.

Lincoln threw another dirty look at Sucre.

"I said I'm sorry," Sucre whined from the passenger seat, squished up against the window and out of Linc's reach. "But, listen, if it were Maricruz, I would want to know."

Lincoln sighed. His plan had been perfectly simple - break Michael and the others out of Sona, get them somewhere safe, get his brother really drunk, and **then **tell him about his girlfriend's lack of a head. But oh no, the dumbass had to tell his brother now, when they were all crammed into a old crap car, not even five minutes away from the prison and in serious need of the kind of genius "seems like I'm fucked but surprise! everything's cool" thinking that made Linc's brain hurt.

He hoped Sucre never saw Maricruz again. He hoped that she was off somewhere having great sex with some other cousin of Fernando's, that she got fat after having lots of his babies, and then got her head put in a box and Fed-Exed.

From under the hands trying to gouge out his agonized blue eyes, Michael wailed.

"I know this is tough," Linc began awkwardly. Comforting people wasn't exactly his thing, after all. He'd always been a firm believer in going after whatever had pissed you off and then beating it into a pulp until you felt better. "But we'll make it through this, Michael."

"Yeah," Whistler said, Sophia's arms wrapped securely around him. "We're here for you, mate."

"Yeah," Sucre agreed.

"Hotties are everywhere in America, right?" The kid with the basket ball said.

"I want to die," Michael moaned from the back seat. "I have nothing left to live for."

Lincoln frowned. He knew brotherly love was nothing compared to sex with a chick after incarceration but he was still a bit annoyed. After all, he'd just spent the last week trying to break Michael from prison. He'd had to deal with Sucre, Whistler's whiny girlfriend, a trigger-happy Susan, and the sunburn to end all sunburns running in a v-shape down his chest since neither of his shirts would button all the way up. Sure, Sara had been nice enough but there was a definite 'bros before hoes' mentality that he felt Michael was somewhat lacking.

"I'm going to kill them!" Michael suddenly declared from the back seat. "I'm going to hunt those bastards down, rip out their eyes, and let them see the mangled remains of their decimated bodies."

There was silence in the car.

"Mike ... You know I love you, man," Linc said finally. "But you couldn't kill someone if someone if your life depended on it."

"I could too!" Michael protested. He looked around for support.

"I'm sorry, Papi," Sucre said. "But Linc's right."

"Yeah," Whistler agreed. "You're kind of a pussy, mate."

Michael looked outraged. "That's not true!"

"Face it, man, you couldn't kill someone if you had the 'how to' blueprint tattooed on your arm. You have these morals," Linc said, making finger quotations around the world 'morals' and rolling his eyes.

"He's got a point," Mahone shouted from the trunk. "I mean, I'm the guy that killed your old man and I'm still alive and kicking."

"Don't think I've forgotten about you," Lincoln growled. "It's not that I don't think this whole Sara's head thing isn't going to help with all the blue-eyed angst but I'd really be surprised if we got anything more than a few bitch slaps out of it."

"Yeah," Whistler agreed.

"Word," the basketball kid said.

Michael sat back with a huff. There was an uncomfortable silence in the car that was finally broken by Sucre, asking if anyone had anything to eat. Mahone agreed that he had a pretty bad case of the munchies before Lincoln threatened to feed the ex-cop his own entrails. Michael crossed his arms and glared at the road ahead of them, torn between despair at the loss of his girlfriend and irritation at having his masculinity questioned.

"You guys suck," He said finally.

**Let me know if you like and I'll get to work on a sequel :)**


End file.
